


Home; a place where I belong

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Aged-Up Stiles Stilinski, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dead Claudia Stilinski, Established Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Fluff, Isaac Lahey & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, M/M, Mentioned Camden Lahey, Mentioned Claudia Stilinski - Freeform, Pack, Pack Family, Pack Mom Stiles Stilinski, Rebuilt Hale House, The Hale House, The Hale Pack - Freeform, dead camden lahey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:40:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23213404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: Homework, snacks, and comforting the pups after nightmares, all the duties of a pack mum.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 19
Kudos: 775





	Home; a place where I belong

The pack shuffled into the Jeep: Erica calling shotgun and bounding into the front seat, Boyd and Isaac sliding into the back, and Jackson sitting in the rear, the lacrosse gear stacked beside him.

“Do you have any—?” Erica started.

“Glove box,” Stiles answered before she could finish the question.

Erica leant forward and pulled open the glove box, letting out a delighted gasp as she pulled a packet of Oreos out, passing a packet of liquorice to Boyd before tossing a packet of gummy bears back to Jackson.

He caught them and muttered a quiet thank you.

She held the packet of jelly beans over the back of her chair. “Isaac?”

“Not hungry?” he said quietly.

“Okay,” Erica said, setting them back in the glove box. “They’re there if you want them.”

Stiles glanced in his rear view mirror, looking at Isaac.

The young man’s face was set in a dejected expression, his rich sapphire blue eyes full of thought as he stared blankly out the window.

Stiles’ brow furrowed slightly in thought. He reached forward and turned the key, letting the Jeep’s engine come to life. He pulled out of the parking spot and drove towards the outskirts of town; to the Hale House.

Derek had rebuilt his family home bit by bit, the house now standing tall in the clearing.

The outside of the house looked like a patchwork quilt; pale strips of fresh pine stood out against the withered ash-grey wooden panels and the charred black siding. The siding and shutters still had to be painted, but it was coming together.

He’d postponed finishing the outside in favour of doing up the bedrooms.

It seemed that the more he repaired the house, the more Derek came to terms with what happened. He wasn’t living in ruins anymore; he had his home back.

Stiles pulled up before the house and parked the car.

The pack opened their doors, grabbing their bags and bounding into the house. Boyd grabbed Stiles’ backpack from the back seat and took it inside with him.

Stiles waited, watching as it took Isaac a moment to shake himself from his thoughts and sluggishly follow the others.

“Isaac,” Stiles said softly.

Isaac turned to look at him.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Isaac answered, nodding slightly, but there was something about his response—the dismissiveness, the quietness of his voice, something—that made Stiles doubt his answer.

“Okay,” Stiles said, not wanting to push any further.

Isaac grabbed his bag and pushed open the door, making his way inside.

Stiles lingered a second longer before following him inside.

Derek had done a good job at restoring the house. The walls inside were covered in crisp white paint. A few of the support beams that framed the room had been replaced—the large beams weathered, scarred and stained in an effort to match the surviving beans that were burnt, black and distorted like the disfigured body of Atlas bowing beneath an unimaginable weight.

The house smelt of sweet dew and crisp pine trees, tainted by the smell of ash that never seemed to fade.

There were scattered signs of history and new life mingling among the ruins. There were pieces of furniture that had been restores or salvaged, wooden tables with charred legs and warped paint like scars. The walls of the hallways were lined with photos of the Hale family, pictures that Stiles and the pack had helped Derek track down—and new photos; photos of the pack.

It was a home again, for all of them.

They don’t know exactly when or how they’d come to this arrangement, but the five of them lived with Derek on and off. Stiles stayed over on the nights when his dad was working late and Jackson and Boyd stayed over whenever they wanted to or when they felt like they couldn’t be at home.

Erica and Isaac were a different story.

Erica had run away from home – away from her parents – and Derek took her in.

Isaac, however—after his father’s death, Derek had taken him in. He’d spoken to the Sheriff and begged him not to put Isaac through the foster system; he put his name forward to take Isaac in and the Sheriff approved, knowing Isaac would do better with someone he knew and who knew what it was like to lose his family.

Stiles watched from the entryway as Isaac made his way upstairs to his bedroom.

“Hey,” Derek said softly as he stepped out of the dining room and over to Stiles’ side, setting his hand on Stiles’ waist and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Hey,” Stiles replied, turning his head slightly to return the kiss, but his eyes were still locked on Isaac’s bedroom door.

Derek followed his gaze. “Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles replied. “He says he’s fine but something seems off.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head. “He might see it as a confrontation and shut down completely.”

Derek let out a measured sigh. “Just give him some time and space. He’ll tell us when he’s ready.”

Stiles nodded, but the feeling of worry and unease in his stomach didn’t seem to lessen.

He made his way up to his room, nudging open the door with his foot and dropping his bag a the foot of his bed. He pulled out the folders and textbooks, setting them down on the mattress before rummaging around for his pens and highlighters. He grabbed his laptop before shuffling onto the bed, resting his back against the headboard as he balanced his laptop on his legs. 

He flipped open the books to the pages he wanted and tried to block out the sound of Boyd and Jackson bickering downstairs—only for them to be silenced a moment later when Derek stepped in.

There was a quiet knock at the door a moment later. “Stiles?”

He looked up, meeting Erica’s gaze as she peered in through the gap in the door. “Yeah?”

“Could you help me with my homework?” she asked sheepishly.

Stiles offered her a kind smile and nodded to the space on the bed beside him. “Come on.”

She crawled onto the bed and sat down beside him.

He helped her work through English, Math, and History. At some point, Boyd joined them, listening in and taking notes as he worked through his homework.

Before they knew it, there was a quiet knock at the door.

“Dinner’s ready,” Derek told them.

Stiles drew in a deep breath, his mind taking a moment to recognise the smell of pizza the drifted upstairs.

They set aside their homework and made their way downstairs.

Stiles lingered in the doorway, looking back up at Isaac’s door.

“He says he’s going to join us in a minute,” Derek said quietly. “He’s not hungry, but I’ve convinced him to eat at least one slice.”

“If he doesn’t want pizza, he can have my garlic bread,” Stiles offered.

Derek was taken aback; for Stiles, surrendering his garlic bread was the ultimate sacrifice.

Stiles ignored his boyfriend’s shocked expression and made his way into the kitchen, putting a few slices of pizza on a plate before sitting down at the table with the others.

True to his word, Isaac came downstairs a short while later.

Derek was in the kitchen when the teen shuffled in. He spoke quietly to Isaac, offering him the garlic bread that Stiles had oh-so-selflessly offered.

Isaac nodded slightly, putting the few pieces of garlic bread on a plate before sitting down next to Derek at the table, picking apart and nibbling at the bread.

Stiles spared glances at him, taking in the way Isaac’s dark blue eyes swirled with thought, his face void of emotion and his movements slow and lethargic.

As soon as they were finished, Isaac set his plate in the sink with the others and disappeared back upstairs.

Stiles felt his heart ache.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked when Derek stepped over to his side, drying his hands on a towel as he finished with the last of the dishes.

“He hasn’t said anything to me,” Derek told him, keeping his voice low so that the others wouldn’t hear them from the living room.

“It bugs me that there’s something wrong and he’s not telling us,” Stiles said under his voice, irritation adding an edge to his words.

“He’s been though a lot,” Derek started softly.

“I know,” Stiles said. “I’m not upset that there’s something going on, I’m upset that he thinks he’s alone.”

Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ shoulders, pulling him into a warm hug. He pressed a kiss to the top of Stiles head.

He didn’t say anything else; he didn’t know what else to say.

Isaac wasn’t alone; they knew that. They just hoped _he_ knew that.

The heart-breaking cry rang out through the house, shattering the silence of the night.

Stiles threw back the blankets, leaping to his feet and sprinting to the door. He ran across the landing and into Isaac’s room.

He leapt across the room, pulling Isaac back against his chest and pinned his slender flailing arms to his side as he held him in his warmth, whispering softly to him.

Isaac fought back for a minute but his heart-breaking wail died down to a soft sob as tears trailed down his pail cheeks. His shoulders shook with broken breaths, his voice almost inaudible as he uttered, “Don’t go.”

Stiles felt his heart break, gently smoothing back the mess of sandy blond curls.

After a while, Isaac stopped shaking, his breathing steady. He brushed away his tears with the back of his hand, gently pulling away from Stiles.

“Are you alright?” Stiles hesitated to ask.

Isaac nodded, still not looking up at him.

“Isaac,” Stiles said softly. “What’s going on?”

“It’s…” He glanced up at Stiles for a second before looking down again. He swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. “It’s ten years since my brother died.”

Stiles felt his heart shatter.

“Isaac,” he said softly, at a loss for words.

“I just keep thinking… what if I could have done something to make him stay? Then, maybe, Camden would still be alive…” His voice broke as another wave of tears welled in his eyes, glistening in the light from the hallway.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said quietly. “I wish I had some kind of answer for you, something that would make you feel better. All I know is that your brother was kind and selfless; he was a hero, and he died doing what he thought was the right thing.”

“I know,” Isaac replied, his voice quiet. “I just wish…”

“He wasn’t dead,” Stiles finished.

Isaac nodded.

“I wish I could see him… talk to him…” Isaac blinked back tears. “I wish I could say goodbye.”

Stiles drew in a measured breath and gently patted Isaac’s shoulder. “Get dressed and grab your jacket.”

“What?” Isaac asked. “Why?”

“Just do it,” Stiles said as he rose to his feet and headed back out the door.

He went back to his worm, searching in the dim light from the hallway for his jeans and a thick jacket—not wanting to turn on the light in case he woke Derek.

He heard a quiet moan as Derek rolled over in bed. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” Stiles whispered.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Derek asked, his voice slurred by sleep.

“Isaac did,” Stiles answered. He stepped over to the side of the bed, leaning over to kiss Derek. “Go back to sleep; I’ve got this.”

“Okay,” Derek said quietly, rolling over again and letting his eyes drift shut.

Stiles couldn’t help but smile.

He found his jacket and made his way onto the landing, gently closing the door behind himself. He made his way downstairs, grabbing his car keys from where they sat on the small table by the front door and waiting for Isaac.

He didn’t explain where they were going; he just zipped up his jacket and stepped out into the bitter cold night air.

They clambered into the Jeep and Stiles started the engine, driving back down the snaking driveway.

He stopped at the gas station on the outskirts of town, the store lit by bright fluorescent lights. It was the only store in town that was open all night.

When he emerged again, he was carrying two bouquets of flowers—one that was made of oriental lilies that had delicate petals that were white along the edges and purple in the centre, bold purple statice, and baby’s breath; and the other made of white orchids, snowdrops, and white carnations. He passed them to Isaac, asking him to hold them as he climbed back into the car.

They drove on.

Isaac was about to ask Stiles where they were going, but his words died in his throat as they pulled up before the wrought iron gate of the Beacon Hills Cemetery.

“Come on,” Stiles said softly, turning off the engine and pushing open his door.

Isaac followed him through the gates and along the rows until Stiles found he grave he was looking for. The white marble headstone sat among the rest of the veterans—away from their parents’ graves. His name was stamped into the stone, painted gold. LT. CAMDEN LAHEY.

“Pass me the purple ones,” Stiles said softly, gently taking the bouquet of lilies and statice from Isaac. “Take your time.”

“What am I meant to do?” Isaac asked.

“Talk to him,” Stiles said.

Isaac nodded, turning back to his brother’s grave.

Stiles watched him for a second before turning and making his way down the rows until he found a familiar grave.

He set the flowers down before the headstone and lowered himself onto the dew-dampened grass in front of the grave.

His eyes rolled over the engraved headstone.

_Claudia Stilinski._

“Hi, mum.”

He stayed there for a while, talking to his mother’s headstone. He didn’t know if she could hear him, but he hoped she could.

Eventually, Isaac wandered over to him, standing silently beside him.

Stiles rose to his feet, brushing himself down.

“You ready to go?” he asked Isaac.

Isaac nodded.

Stiles gently patted his shoulder, walking back to the Jeep with him. He clambered into the car and turned on the engine, driving home in silence.

“Hey, Stiles,” Isaac said after a while, his quiet voice startling Stiles.

“Hmm?” Stiles looked across at him, lifting a questioning eyebrow.

“Thank you.”

Stiles offered him a friendly smile.

“You’re not alone,” Stiles said softly. “Never have been; never will be.”

“I know,” Isaac said quietly. “I just forgot.”

“Well, next time you forget, I’ll be here to remind you.”

A small smile turned up the corner of Isaac’s lips. “Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


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